Charms and Transfigurations
by Foxberries
Summary: This is the story of the moments that made up the school years of Lily Evans and James Potter. The story of the Marauders, the Lionesses, the Stag and the Doe. The story that started in '71, and the story that will end when the magic of the Marauders' Map fades; and maybe not even then.
1. Chapter 1: The Stag and the Doe

Chapter 1: The Stag and the Doe

At the end of your lifetime, when laying back and reflecting on what has passed, you would not recall the majority of your memories. You would not fondly remember the hours spent pouring over a book, or sitting in traffic. Any evening spent alone with a hot drink and a pet by your side, while pleasant, is nothing ground-breaking or life-shaking. The memories that return to us in our final hours are our defining moments; the motions we went through that put the stories of our lives on course.

Lily Evans had an old soul. She was creative and imaginative. She drew great comfort from the world around her and the lessons available to her. During her years at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Lily loved to feel magic in her hands. She loved the solid woodgrain of her wand against her palm. She craved the cool crystal of Potions vials between her fingertips. She revered the gentle movement of a living, breathing magical creature under her hands. Lily loved books - the novels of her Muggle childhood and the tomes of her enchanted adolescence. She told herself she would be a writer someday. Her happy place was outdoors in the natural world, whether that was under the sparkling expanse of the night sky or laying on a blanket of wildflowers with the breeze playing across her skin. She adored flowers. All flowers, except for lilies. She hated a cliché.

James Potter was a free spirit. He resented his lessons at Hogwarts; not that he resented the castle. Hogwarts castle was his favourite place on earth. He would much rather explore it, discovering secret passageways and befriending the portraits, than sit in a classroom and discuss 15th century cross-species conflicts. He lived for flying, for escaping from the oppressive rules of gravity and soaring into the sky on his broomstick. James' happy place was amongst the clouds, above the highest trees, where the air grew thin and his lungs ached and his cheeks did too, from grinning so much. He told himself that he would grow up to play professional Quidditch, as it was the only thing in which he loved to excel. That being said, James also had a knack for Transfiguration. He strived for his professor's approval; mainly because she was the only teacher in the entire school who could not be charmed by his scruffy hair and easy confidence. He loved a challenge.

These defining moments were plentiful to Lily Evans; her life was overflowing with meaningful memories, with purpose and destiny. At the end of Lily's lifetime, it would be inaccurate to say that her life 'flashed' before her eyes, as so much importance could never have been compressed into a single flash. Lily saw the first time she realised she was magical, hearing those words fall from the lips of a best friend, a traitor, an enemy. She saw the first time her fingers wrapped around those ten and three-quarter inches of willow, and the sparkling wisps that erupted from the tip, so closely resembling flower petals. She saw the the first time she met James Potter, eleven years old and so filled with promise, not knowing how deeply their lives would intertwine.

The series of events that led to the deaths of the Potters could have started at any of these, Lily's, defining moments. Maybe it _did_ start with Lily and James sat together in a carriage on the Hogwarts Express, their entire lives stretching out ahead of them. Then again, maybe it started in their third year, when Severus Snape spat those poisonous words at his best friend that he would never be able to take back. Perhaps it started decades earlier, when Merope Gaunt deceived the handsome Muggle Tom Riddle, and conceived an evil creature with no capacity to love.

The Marauders started in their second year, in 1972, when four young boys solemnly swore to always protect and follow one another, against great odds, through magical transformations (voluntary and otherwise), for as long as they lived. Lily and James started in their seventh year, though really, it was a long time coming, as any of their friends would happily and exasperatedly tell you.

Moments and lifetimes as precious as these naturally have to reach an ending. In some ways, they did; the Marauders were torn apart, Lily and James left the mortal plane and their wands forever left their hands. Then again, I don't need to tell _you_ that their love and friendship endured so much longer than their lifetimes. The spirit of the Marauders passed onto Harry, the only son of the Potters, in the form of a bewitched piece of parchment. The names of Harry's parents lived on in his children, who returned to Hogwarts and caused more than one double-take when aged professors saw their names written down. And who are we to say their stories will ever reach an ending?

But I'm getting ahead of myself. Allow me to relay to you these defining moments belonging to the Marauders, to James Potter, and to Lily Evans.


	2. Chapter 2: Muggles and Magic

Chapter 2: Muggles and Magic

Any magical person, no matter the blood status, will know the story of their first accidental burst of magic. Some may recall the incident first-hand, others will have heard the tale from parents or siblings. These displays of magic can happen in times of high emotion or stress, or even sometimes in boredom or play.

James Potter was a pureblood, and was surrounded by magic from the moment he was born. He grew up watching house elves perform chores in his home, seeing his mother go through her morning and night routine beauty spells, hearing his father complain of the dangerous magic he had encountered during work that day. Still, there is a difference between seeing magic and creating it.

The first time James produced any substantial magic was, rather appropriately, during a tantrum at age five. Before this, he had levitated toys out of his crib, refilled his bottle with milk, amplified his shrieking voice; all skills expected of a baby wizard born with a silver spoon in his mouth. However, this occasion was different for two reasons: one, James had never permanently altered his surroundings before, and two, he displayed a significant amount of skill, particularly for someone his age.

It started like any other tantrum. Mrs Euphemia Potter was a glamorous and nurturing woman, and loved her only son more than anything in the world. He was unaccustomed to things not going his way. So, on one Saturday morning in mid-summer, little James Potter ran to the french doors leading to the grounds of Hallows House, his sticky fists wrapped around his father's old racing broom, expecting nothing more than a frown, a clucking sound and a disapproving glance from his mother.

"James!" she called, following his heavy little footsteps from the kitchen. He halted, one hand reaching up to the door handle. Euphemia had her hands on her hips, her expectant face framed by perfect auburn curls. "Where are you going with Daddy's broom?"

James pointed to the garden through a glass pane, his finger leaving a smudge on the glass. He grinned. "Outside!"

"You know you aren't allowed on Daddy's broom, sweetheart," his mother said, folding her arms and smiling despite herself. At her words, her son's face crumpled into the all-too-familiar pleading face he liked to wear, his lower lip sticking out and his hazel eyes almost tripling in size. Euphemia forced herself to harden her resolve. "I said no, James. Give Mummy the broomstick."

"No!" James opened the door with some difficulty, the broomstick clattering against the door frame as he ran out onto the sun-dappled grass, freshly trimmed into suburban stripes. His tongue stuck out for added concentration, he tried to throw his leg over the broom, wobbling slightly as he did. Euphemia's footsteps were muffled on the grass, and so when the broom disappeared from his grasp, he cried out in surprise and disdain. "Mum!"

"Not until you're older, James! You must listen to Mummy," Euphemia held the broomstick high above his head, the smooth handle reflecting the sunlight tantalisingly. James leapt up and down, his hands desperately reaching for the broom. Upon realising that he'd need to grow a significant amount to retrieve it, and that wouldn't happen for a good few years yet, the youngest Potter folded his arms tightly across his chest and stamped his feet.

Mr Fleamont Potter had entered the garden behind his wife and was watching the exchange fondly from the doorway. He knew Euphemia was doing right by her son; he was simply too young to be trusted with a broomstick capable of such speed, and it was good to tell him 'no' every now and again. That being said, he couldn't help but be proud of James' early interest in flying. He had been the same when he was a boy.

"Don't you stamp your feet at me, young man!" Euphemia threatened, wagging her finger dangerously at her son. James dared to stamp twice more, catching his father's eye and increasing the ferocity of his scowl. When Fleamont shook his head, that was simply the last straw for the little wizard.

James' lip wobbled and the air around him seemed to vibrate too, a fearful hush falling over the grounds of Hallows House in anticipation of the oncoming storm. He looked between his parents with tear-filled eyes in warning. Euphemia and Fleamont exchanged exasperated looks and the former took a step back from her son before he threw back his head and let loose an almighty scream of indignation.

This had happened before, too many times for the Potters to count. As I mentioned before, however, this tantrum was different. James' parents knew this tantrum was different when they felt the earth beneath their feet shudder threateningly, as if an angry ripple was emanating out from their son. Euphemia took another step back, looking around in alarm as yet another ripple coursed through the ground. A third movement surged out through James' feet as his scream reached a crescendo, and with this movement came a loud crackle of visible electricity, pulsing over the grass and up the bark of a nearby apple tree, like a loose bolt of lightning coating the surface of the wood. As the electricity dissipated, the Potters were dismayed (and slightly amazed) to see that the garden within a ten-meter ring of James had burned black in his electrical tantrum.

Euphemia turned once more to her husband, seeing that his expression matched hers: eyes wide, jaw dropped, skin pale. Beside them, blackened apples dropped onto the blackened lawn. James suddenly seemed to realise what he had done, and was staring determinedly at the laces of his shoes. The following day, Fleamont went on a trip to Diagon Alley, and returned with a size-appropriate toy broomstick for his son.

Needless to say, Lily's first experience with magic was much, much different. Lily wasn't the sort to have a tantrum in the first place, and if she had burned half of her garden, it is likely that the Ministry would have banned her from Hogwarts prematurely. No; Lily's first accidental magic was rather beautiful.

She was always a sweet girl, from birth to death. Her vibrant green eyes were capable of communicating surprising levels of emotion, and her flaming hair mirrored the passion and intensity she carried inside her. Anyone who met Lily could have told you she was special. This never got to Lily's head, and thankfully, she remained grounded and modest even after her witchcraft was confirmed. Her older sister, Petunia, never managed to live up to - well, anything about Lily. Lily was sweeter, funnier, smarter, more striking, and to top it all of, she was magical. Petunia never had a chance.

It was the height of summer in 1969, and the Evans sisters were playing in their local park. Unbeknownst to them, a young Severus Snape was watching them from a distance, having always harboured a secret affection for the redhead; but more on that later.

Nine-year-old Lily was so content that day. The grass was soft, the breeze was gentle, the sun was glorious and hot. The park was framed by wildflowers, foxgloves and catmint and fuschia, and Lily could smell them on the wind. Her eyes were closed as the sunlight kissed her freckly face. Petunia sat beside her, a handkerchief in hand as she snuffled against the pollen in the air. Mrs Marilyn Evans had insisted that the girls go to spend time outside, refusing to accept that their pale skin was a genetic trait. She had armed her eldest daughter with a supply of militarial-strength antihistamines and sent her into the fray, and Petunia refused to be anything other than absolutely miserable.

They had chosen a spot beside a large patch of wild daisies (much to Petunia's chagrin), and Lily enjoyed watching them sway to and fro. She was _so_ content. A warmness spread from her stomach to the tips of her fingers and toes; her happiness was _so_ great. She was in _such_ a place of comfort that it seemed completely normal to her that the flowers open and close of their own volition; in time with her heartbeat, the petals of the daisies were gathering and then spreading, gathering then spreading, softly and gently, without a sound. Petunia saw the smile on her sister's face and followed her gaze, then leapt to her feet in shock.

"What the hell?" she cried, running a hand through her blonde hair and looking confusedly between her sister and the flowers. Lily didn't seem to realise what the problem was, turning her eyes to her sister rather lazily.

"Isn't it pretty, Tuney?" Lily smiled, her feet starting to sway in time with the flowers.

"It isn't pretty!" Petunia snapped, feeling rather frightened and not really knowing why. "How are you doing that?"

Lily looked back at the flowers, a crease appearing between her eyebrows. What did her sister mean? Was it unusual to be able to control the flowers this way? She had always been able to make flowers move. She never questioned it because it had always been that way. Perhaps it _was_ unusual. Lily got to her feet and the flowers stopped their rhythmic dance.

"I don't know, actually," she said, taking a step towards her sister. Petunia recoiled.

"Stay away!" Petunia snapped, and Lily froze, suddenly hurt. "Freak!"

Lily watched her sister flee the park and start back up the street towards their house. She felt the tears brimming in her eyes. 'Freak' was a very hurtful word, she thought. She didn't _feel_ like a freak, but if Petunia had said it, it must be true.

The young witch turned back to the flowers and started, for she was no longer alone. A boy stood a small distance away, his dark hair falling into his face, wringing his hands together.

"You aren't a freak," he said, and his voice was quiet and shy. Lily didn't say anything, but wiped her eyes with the heels of her hands. The boy looked at the flowers and spoke again. "I can do things like that. You're the same as me."

"You can make the flowers move too?" Lily's voice was hopeful, and she gasped as the daisies began to open and close once more under the boy's gaze.

"You're a witch," the boy told her, and she frowned.

"Well, that isn't a very nice thing to say."

"No," he backtracked. "I mean you're magical. I'm a wizard."

Lily laughed. "Are we playing a game?"

The boy seemed to be losing his patience. He stepped towards Lily, his hands wringing faster now. "What's your name?"

"Lily."

"I'm Severus," he stuck his hand out formally. She giggled and shook it shyly, still partially convinced that the boy was attempting to initiate a very strange yet imaginative game with her. "You can do other things, can't you?"

"Like the flowers?" Lily chewed on her thumbnail, thinking. "No, I don't think so. At least, I haven't tried."

"Watch me," Severus smiled for the first time since they had met, a sweet, shy smile, and stepped away from Lily. He fixed his gaze on the flowers again, his face turning a little red with exertion, and suddenly a daisy from the centre of the patch snapped free from its stem and sprang into the air. Lily yelped, then laughed, watching the flower in amazement.

"How are you doing that?" she whispered, her voice full of wonderment. The daisy moved towards her and she caught it in mid-air with a smile on her face.

"We're magical," Severus said again, taking a seat by the daisies. Lily did the same, and he scooted closer to her. "Let me tell you everything."

That afternoon, Severus told Lily almost everything he knew about the magical world. He told her about their powers, what they would learn someday, the school they would doubtlessly both attend. He told her about his mother, Eileen Snape, and her skills as an adult witch. Lily was enthralled, enraptured, soaking up every last bit of information like a sponge.

The youngest Evans became Severus Snape's first real friend. His childhood was an empty, miserable one; he felt alienated from other children because of what he was and what he would grow to be. He felt that he was better than the Muggle children, and didn't want to waste his time befriending people who would only ever know half of who he truly was. Even as a young child, he recognised that his mother was a highly capable witch. He traipsed around the house after her endlessly, watching her perform housecleaning spells and listening to her singing along to the WWN. His father, however, was a Muggle; a completely ordinary, useless, unspectacular man. Tobias Snape grew fat and lazy in his apathy, letting his magical wife use her powers to take care of their home and their child.

Severus hated his father. He thought his father was good for absolutely nothing, and largely ignored him. He had no time for non-magical folk. What good were they? The future lay in the magical world, he saw that, even at age nine when he met Lily Evans.

Despite these views being so important to Severus, he never told Lily how he felt about Muggles. He knew her family weren't magical; he didn't want to offend her. And so, Lily entered the magical world, not knowing that she was different to other magical people, that she was what some called a 'muggleborn', what others called 'Mudblood', because Snape kept quiet. But he knew. And, like everything else he didn't like, he ignored it.


	3. Chapter 3: The Wand's Choice

Chapter 3: The Wand's Choice

Things seemed to move so slowly for the two years between Lily's magical awakening and her first year at Hogwarts. Every day was another question for Severus, another argument with Petunia, another giddy conversation with her parents.

On Lily's eleventh birthday, she received her Hogwarts letter, delivered personally by her future headmaster, Albus Dumbledore. He made a point to visit muggleborn children so that he could comfort and convince their often very confused and disbelieving parents. He would later tell of how pleasantly surprised he was upon meeting Marilyn and Charles Evans: they simply could not be more excited about the world their daughter was joining.

Dumbledore explained to Lily's parents, whilst she sat patiently and shyly between them, that they would need to accompany her on a shopping trip to Diagon Alley, helpfully making note of where to buy what and conjuring a small map of the area. Charles could barely stop himself from asking Dumbledore every question that popped into his head: what kind of job would Lily be able to get once she graduated school? Could magical animals talk? Could he please, if it isn't too much trouble, show them some magic? Lily was pleased to see that Dumbledore found her father's enthusiasm most amusing, his blue eyes twinkling over the family.

Petunia had been lurking nearby, of course, eyeing the headmaster and trying to convince herself that the whole thing was absurd and beneath her. Shortly after his visit, Lily found a letter in her sister's room whilst searching for a misplaced dress (Marilyn often confused the girls' clothes) written in the hand of the headmaster. He was ever so kind, Lily noted with a strange sense of pride, and she gathered from the letter that Petunia had more-or-less begged him to let her come to Hogwarts. Lily had felt a pang of pity and guilt in her chest. She wished her sister could join her and share in this part of her life. Things had always been quite tense between the girls, but since that summer day two years previous, Petunia had barely spared a glance for her sister.

It was late August in 1971 when Lily first went to Diagon Alley accompanied by her parents, who were about as excited as she was. Petunia had opted to stay home, as she was fourteen now and had so many mature things to be getting on with, like summer homework and calling her friends.

Lily must have visited Diagon Alley dozens of times throughout her education, but she would never, ever forget this first visit. After the brick wall melted away before her, and the wave of wonderful sounds reached her, Lily was completely absorbed into this world. The shops were colourful, ridiculous, amazing - strange apparatuses stood spinning in windows - barrels of unknown objects lined the streets - were those eyeballs? Was that a tooth? - owls perched hooting indignantly from the eaves of one storefront, whilst cats prowled in the doorway of another. Marilyn was drawn to a clothes shop featuring an enchanted needle and thread crafting a magnificent set of dress robes before their very eyes, whilst Charles spotted some kind of sporting shop some distance away with - it couldn't be a broomstick levitating in the window?

First on their list was robes, and as Lily very logically reasoned with her parents, they really should get the most important thing out of the way first: she could hardly cast spells in her underclothes. Once inside the shop - Madam Malkin's - Charles and Marilyn were seated on a plush loveseat, helping themselves to tea from the serving trolley that had rolled up beside them, as Lily was measured by the pleasant and plump Madam Malkin herself.

"Muggleborn, are you? You must be terribly excited," Madam Malkin said, not unkindly, taking note of Lily's parents. Lily nodded quickly, unable to reply as a measuring tape was, without assistance, currently measuring the length of her tongue. The store hostess was snipping away at a large black piece of fabric that was draping itself around Lily's arms and shoulders.

"You're a muggleborn?" came a voice from nearby. Lily craned her neck and spotted another young girl poking her head out from behind a large old-fashioned separator. "Wow! Are you nervous? I'm nervous, and my parents are magic!"

The girl tottered out, currently sporting the same black cloak as Lily, except it was a good 6 inches too long in the leg and arm for her. She had very shiny dark brown hair and wide blue eyes, and she wore an easy smile.

"My name's Mary," the girl said, holding out a hand and shaking her sleeve back.

"I'm Lily," Lily smiled rather shyly, shaking Mary's hand. "And yes, I'm really rather nervous."

"Have you got your wand yet? I just got mine!" Mary pulled a pale length of wood from the waistband of her skirt. "Eight inches, maple, dragon heartstring. From a real dragon!"

Lily could only stare in amazement. She caught her parents' eyes. "Can we get a wand next, mum? Dad?"

They nodded, staring at Mary's wand. The young brunette's face lit up and she made her way over to where the Evanses were seated, animatedly describing the experience to them as they watched her interestedly.

Lily and her parents finished up in Madam Malkin's and scanned the street for the shop Mary had told them about, spotting it a few yards away. This shop seemed less colourful or animated that the others, but it had a definite air of mystery hanging around it. The sign above the doorway read 'Ollivander's - Makers of Fine Wands since 382 B.C.' It seemed quite small inside, and so Marilyn and Charles volunteered to wait outside for their daughter.

A bell above the door tinkled gently as she pushed her way inside, and a wizened wizard with a shock of wiry hair looked up from his desk. His eyes had an energy that his appearance seemed to lack - his gaze pierced her.

"Hogwarts? Mm. Come here, child," he requested, gesturing to the flickering lamp under which he sat. Lily approached, trembling slightly, nervously avoiding eye contact with this strange man.

"M-Mr Ollivander?" Lily inquired. He seemed distracted for a moment, looking at her questioningly, then nodded.

"Yes," he replied. Lily was about to introduce herself, but before she could, he disappeared in amongst the towering shelves of long, slender boxes. She heard him muttering to himself for a moment or two, then he reappeared, brushing the dust ofter a deep burgundy box. "Try this one, dear."

Lily opened the box and saw a wand, expecting it to be more like the one she saw in Mary's hand - pale, rather short and rather plain. This wand was completely different. It was a much deeper wood, almost blood red, with symbols carved around the grip. Lily made to pick it up hesitantly, but after just pressing a fingertip to the surface, Mr Ollivander tutted and snatched the box from her, disappearing once more into the shelves.

This happened twice more, once with a very long wand made of some chocolate brown wood, and again with a chunkier model coloured like a stormy sky. The fourth time Mr Ollivander presented Lily with a box, she lifted the lid to see a golden-brown wand, not too long and not too short, with a handle shaped like some kind of horn. The grip tapered towards the end, with a narrow line spiralling around the length. She took it into her hand and almost instantly the wand warmed to her touch, shuddering slightly and sending petal-shaped wisps of smoke raining around the young witch and the aged wizard.

Lily laughed in delight and amazement, and Mr Ollivander's face broke into a toothy smile.

"Yes, yes. Willow, ten and three-quarter inches, unicorn hair. Particularly good for Charms work. I had a feeling," he noted, eyeing the wand rather fondly.

Lily suddenly felt the urge to ask a question that she suspected might be rather silly to Mr Ollivander. Deciding that it was worth asking anyway, and a little silliness never hurt anyone, Lily looked up from her wand and addressed the store owner.

"Mr Ollivander," she began. "Perhaps this is naive of me, but do wands ever - ever say anything about a person's personality? Like a horoscope or - or palm reading?" She flushed red even as the words left her mouth, sure she sounded like a proper Muggle.

The old man did not laugh, much to her surprise, but pushed his lips together and let his eyes wander over the shelves in thought.

"You are the first person to ask me that question," he murmured, fixing his icy blue stare back onto Lily. "What is your name, child?"

"Lily Evans, sir."

"Miss Evans. Muggleborn," it was a statement, not a question. "Yes. Yes, I believe that wands do reveal elements of a wizard's personality."

He held out his hand, requesting Lily's wand, and she placed it into his palm. He handled it with great care, she noticed. "What does this say about me, sir?"

Mr Ollivander smiled knowingly before replying. "It says that you should have more faith in yourself, and that your abilities are not to be ignored or belittled. He or she who has furthest to go will go fastest with willow."

"What does that mean?" Lily puzzled, taking the wand back and looking at it curiously.

"It means that you have amazing potential, Miss Evans, without expecting it or even particularly wanting it. It takes a special wizard to wield a willow wand. Treat it with care and it will serve you well."

On this note, Lily thanked the eccentric wandmaker, paid him for the wand and then met with her parents, both of whom were in awe of their daughter's new utensil. The rest of the day passed without much event, other than, of course, Lily's purchase of her animal companion. This was the part Lily was most excited about, being a great lover of animals.

She had already selected an owl, as they were the most useful of pets to bring to Hogwarts: they could bring you news, post, their delivery times were remarkably fast and they always knew where to find you and your friends. Logistically speaking, an owl was the only choice for Lily Evans. And so, that day, Lily left Diagon Alley armed with everything she could need for her first year at Hogwarts, and a new friend clasped firmly in her arms. Lily had chosen a sweet barn owl, calling her Hero, after Lily's favourite literary character.

It just so happened that this day, the day of Lily's visit to Diagon Alley, was also the day that James Potter decided to do his school shopping. Euphemia escorted him, as her husband was busy working in the Ministry, as was the norm. This shopping trip was probably of less import to James than it was to Lily, as he had been nipping to and fro Diagon Alley all his life. The landlord of The Leaky Cauldron, Tom, was a good friend of the Potters, and had watched James grow from a chubby toddler to a scruffy-haired youth. Tom even made a point to sneak James the odd Chocolate Frog or two as he passed through the pub.

James was terribly excited to get his own wand; he had nicked his mum's wand once or twice, trying to conjure more than a few feeble sparks, but he understood that the best magic would come from a wand of his very own. After darting around and hurriedly buying the essentials -some basic Potions ingredients, a stack of textbooks, three sets of plain black robes - Euphemia ushered her son towards Ollivander's, promising him that she would find a suitable owl. Euphemia considered herself somewhat of a connoisseur of owls, taking great care of the three owls belonging to Hallows House.

"I can't send you off to Hogwarts with a slow old fellow that would take days to deliver your post," she had mused, frowning slightly as she eyed some of the older, lazier owls perched outside of Eeylops Owl Emporium. "You go fetch your wand, dear, I'll pick out a friend for you."

And so, James found himself in the exact same spot in which Lily had stood just a few hours previously, looking up at the grey-haired wizard. Ollivander was replacing several wand boxes at the top of one of the precariously-stacked shelves, and James patiently waited while the store owner made his way down the ladder.

"Popular day for first-years," Ollivander mumbled, immediately making his way over to another shelf and pulling out a box. "You're Fleamont's boy, are you? Yes," he went on without waiting for an answer. "The same hair. Here you go, Mr Potter."

James went through much the same experience as Lily, waving a few wands around hopefully until a sleek mahogany model produced a near-blinding flash of light - James would later swear that, as the light faded, he could hear the sound of distant hooves galloping through a wood.

"Very well done, Mr Potter, very theatrical," Ollivander cheered, applauding the young wizard. "There's a fair amount of talent in you, that's clear!"

"Thank you, sir," James grinned, his grip tight around the wand. The handle was deeply lined with pronounced woodgrain, a satisfyingly tactile knot directly underneath James' thumb. It fit into his hand as though it had been designed for that very purpose.

"Eleven inches, mahogany, dragon heartstring," Ollivander observed, nodding towards the wand. "Eight galleons, two sickles, please."

James paid the wizard and then left in pursuit of his mother, who hadn't gotten far. Euphemia was chatting animatedly with the witch who owned Eeylops, a regal great grey owl balanced on her arm. She spotted her son and waved him over, passing the huge owl to him; James was slightly intimidated, as the owl was probably about a third of his size. The witch passed him a few owl treats encouragingly.

"He's quite alright, dear, he's just a big boy," she smiled, patting the owl's smoky feathers. James fed the owl a treat with trembling fingers, chuckling as he nipped at his new owner's fingers.

Euphemia finished up with the store owner and set off for home with her son. James, still feeling rather theatrical from his display in Ollivander's, named the owl Neptune.

It is entirely possible that James and Lily's trips coincided somewhat: they may have crossed paths, bumped shoulders, stood back-to-back in one of the many crowded stores of Diagon Alley. Fate kept them apart on this day, however, with something quite different up its sleeves.


End file.
